ultraviolence
by windsilk
Summary: A rasp, a whisper: one part morning breath, one part desperation against his spine. Her arms squeezed. "Please…don't make me do this." —Sasuke/Sakura.
1. ENTROPY

**ultraviolence  
** ENTROPY

–

–

The dealer shuffled and reshuffled the cards, filmy eyes sliding first over her bare neck and then downward. "What brings you to the City of Dreams?"

Sakura's shoulders tightened, straps of her bottle green dress sliding closer to her neck, fabric draping and pulling downward. She flicked her gaze downward to the plated name of the casino encrusted on the edge of the table. Dazed, she traced the letters, index finger gliding over the 'C' in City. "A dream. What else?"

Her voice was steady, but still she glanced over her shoulder and flagged down a server. A cup of whisky was placed in front of her on a coaster, and she inhaled the stench of alcohol to give her a wisp of bravery before she sipped.

Two cards slapped the table in front of her, face down. She barely glanced up, even as a familiar arm brushed against hers. He sat just to her left, wasting no moments to slide the cards towards him, lifting up the edge to read their value before pressing them back down.

"What about you, sir?"

She kept her gaze straight ahead. His voice was just the same—one part smoker's lung, one part private school. "What about me?"

"What brings you here?"

Typical to his character, he produced a cigarette from his breast pocket and lit it quickly, bringing it to his lips. "Unfinished business," he replied in an exhale of smoke. His words had edge; even the other occupants of the table could feel it. A few glanced up warily.

She couldn't help herself. "That doesn't sound very dreamlike." Finally, finally, she turned her chin leftward, meeting his bloodshot eyes. The other players glanced up again at the interaction.

He huffed. A server set an ashtray down to his left, and he tapped the cigarette against it without looking. He broke their staring contest, but not before profiling all of her. She could feel his eyes on her, tracing the bridge of her nose, the new red lipstick she'd gotten, the baby hairs that hadn't quite made it into her updo, the press of her heart against her chest.

"Life isn't a dream." He talked towards the dealer, now. Their elbows brushed as they both reached for their cards again—a quick reread—and she flinched away.

He brought the cigarette to his lips, and the game began. She tossed a few coins half-heartedly towards the middle of the table. Gambling had never been her forte. When the dealer slid her a third card upon request, a jack on top of her existing 10 and 2, she folded.

Without waiting for the game to finish, she turned to the side, legs and heeled feet exposed by the slit on the side of her dress, and stood. She didn't bother to finish her drink.

"Thank you for the game, but I have some things to attend to." She bent down with the guise of adjusting her shoe but instead reached into his black loafer, grabbing the key she knew would be tucked into the side.

This time, he flinched.

She walked away.

–

His room was quiet, cold, rich. Crown molding crusted the walls, and the furniture was deep wood edged in plated metals. Her heels clicked against the hardwood floor, and she scanned the area before making her selection.

Beeline made for the bedside drawer, she yanked it open and pulled out a thick bundle of papers inside. Flipping through them—all notebook paper and diagrams—she selected a map and a list, crumpling both of them and tossing them in the trashcan by the foot of the bed.

Her hands trembled as she hurried to repackage the papers and put them back where they belonged. Just as she made to lay them back in the drawer, she noticed the handle of a gun peeking out from the very back.

She didn't hesitate to grab it, shove the papers in, and slam the drawer shut.

The pistol was cold in her palm.

None of the lights were on. Unsteadily and in the dark, shadows blooming like bruises across the floor, she made her way to the balcony. The night air was humid with tension, and even the cool metal and glass of the sliding door couldn't drive down her temperature.

She was warm all over—except the gun. Never the gun. She dangled it over the balcony, out of sight for anyone walking up behind her.

The lock clicked open on the main door behind her, and she swallowed. He traversed the room slowly, first slipping off his shoes, placing them neatly by the door. Then, he opened the mini fridge and grabbed a bottle of beer.

A twist top—she could hear it hiss and pop as the pressure was released.

He drank and then walked up behind her.

"Put the gun away, Sakura," he drawled. He came to a stop just behind her, and she whipped around, pressing the barrel into his stomach. Her other hand came up to his shoulder to steady herself, weigh him down.

He didn't look even the slightest bit afraid. "Really? After all these years, you're gonna shoot me _now?"_ He clutched his chest. "I'm hurt. Really."

Where with him there was theatrics and deception, she only had room for steel…and if she were honest with herself, an undercurrent of sadness. "Her name was Samui. The girl you killed. She worked for the new mayor's old campaign office. She was just 19." When he said nothing, she pressed onward; bitterness rose on her tongue. "After all these years, I've finally realized what you've become."

"Oh? Have you?"

She sneered. "Shut the fuck up. Don't play games like this. I have the gun here. I have the power, and I will shoot you."

He shrugged, took another swig of beer. "If you wanted to kill me, you'd have already done it. But you haven't. Because you can't. Because," he paused for effect, leaning forward. His breath was hot with alcohol and tobacco. "You love me."

Her heart twisted. "Don't."

He had the gall to laugh. "Don't? You still wear it on your sleeve like some pathetic prize. Your _love_. It's not a prize. It's a corpse."

She pulled the trigger. It clicked, echoed emptily between them.

His smirk widened into a grin. He clucked his tongue. "Well, well, well. Law enforcement Sakura couldn't be bothered to check if a gun is loaded before she steals it. Amateur mistake." He yanked the gun out between her fingers, tossing it backwards onto the bed as he sealed the space between them. The murky bottle, now empty, slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor, rolling to a stop by the railing.

His hands dragged down the sides of her body, and she jerked away as much as she could, but she was trapped between the railing and him. "Stop it." Her jaw clenched. His breath warmed her face, hops from the beer coloring the air between them.

One of his hands dragged the bottom of her dress upward, hand trailing the length of her inner thigh before cupping her roughly. She slapped him, and he shot her a reprimanding look even as the red burst across his face. "You made this necessary. You went through the drawer to get my gun. I need to be certain that you're not keeping my secrets on you. It's either I feel you up," he punctuated this by letting the dress hem go in favor of squeezing her breasts, "or I strip you down."

Her eyes burned. "Sasuke, please."

He let go, taking a step back, and then reached to stroke the side of her cheek, softer than he had any right to be. His hand dropped back to his side.

"Sasuke, _please_. Don't do this. You have…you're throwing the rest of your life away. You could have a shot at a life. You could have…" The words were a hiccup in her throat.

He turned to walk away, back to the drawer where she had found the gun. "You? Is that what you were going to say?"

Any composure she had left was gone as he grew closer and closer to leaving again. "Don't. Don't do this." She swallowed. It did nothing to push away the thick feeling choking her. Loss, grief, pity—for herself or for him, she couldn't distinguish. "I _do_ love you. I love you with…with all my heart. You have always known that. I can't promise you," she chuckled caustically at herself, "fun every day. Or even a life without regret. It's far too late for that. But…you'd have me. That would be enough."

He looked back at her, even as he put the papers in the backpack by the bedside and slipped the empty gun in as well. The zipper purred as it eased closed.

"Sakura…" he breathed. "I already have you. I don't have justice."

Her lips trembled and she turned back to face the balcony, arms coiling around herself. "That's a funny word you have there— _justice_. Not typically a synonym for revenge."

She heard shuffling and then footsteps. His lips pressed to her ear—a kiss and more. "Sometimes, they're forced to be the same thing."

She didn't turn back around until he left, door clicking shut. She pressed her hands to her burning eyes, willing the tears to reabsorb back into her body but instead she came away with wet palms. She breathed slowly, focusing on the lit windows dotting the skyline.

No more.

She turned around and walked over to the trashcan, fishing out her information. Documents in hand, she peeled off her heels, leaned over to turn on the bedside lamp, and climbed into the bed.

It still smelled like him—but this time, one part soap and one part ghosts.

She unfurled the documents. It was time to begin.

–

–

notes: written for ssm '16, part 1 of 7


	2. HE SAID, SHE SAID

**ultraviolence**  
HE SAID, SHE SAID

–

–

Sleep brought her there again. Back in the attic of the library, dust floating like the smallest particles of snow, glinting and swirling in the summer sunlight. The paperclip he used to unlock the door was now in her possession, and he was kneeling before her.

In her mind's eye, she could see a vision within a dream—him kneeling, his touch light on her knuckles, presenting a box, wearing a suit, _looking like_ —but that wasn't them.

He located a tome hidden beneath a stack of papers. "You want to know, right? What happened to my dad?" Flashes of blood, mourning, gun salutes echoed in her head.

Sakura fought the bounds of the plotline set before her to no avail. "I…Prime Minister Uchiha's death was an assassination. Everyone knows that." Still, a question rose in her voice.

"I killed him," Sasuke snarled, and then the room was engulfed in flame, the tome of travel records of bodyguards incinerated within seconds. The room was awash in the shadows of ghosts, and she could hear Mikoto's words, powerful even in thwarted memory.

Phantom lips brushed her ear, leaving it sticky with lip gloss and blood. "When I think of him, I think of our fights, the ones we battled side by side, the ones we faced against each other. In the end, I think everyone lost."

Mikoto, this woman Sakura had never met, pressed against her spine, shoulder blades. Somewhere, the paper clip lock pick slipped from Sakura's fingers, clattered to the ground like glass.

The dream swam around her, and when she turned, a young Sasuke was weeping before his father's prone body, blood carving tributaries into his crisp button down shirt. Echoes of gunshots neither of them ever heard rebounded in the space, and suddenly, pain erupted in her chest.

When she looked down, bullet holes decorated her blouse, and in her hand was a gun—the same caliber as the one that put holes into Prime Minister Uchiha's chest. Sasuke looked up then, eyes wide and lips trembling, the face of a six year old who had lost it all—" _You killed him._ "

Sakura jolted awake.

Sweat beaded at her brow, and her eyes fluttered in the orange glow of artificial lighting. Her fingers loosened around the sheets, and when she rolled onto her back, papers crunched and crackled beneath her weight.

The hotel room was still, the balcony door was still open, and the beer bottle he'd dropped was still outside.

She closed her eyes, recalling the Sasuke she loved. He lived only in her memory, now—lived in the library where they would argue back and forth, in the fourth floor supply closet by their philosophy class, in the specter of his lips on hers.

Back then, he tasted different: one part coffee and one part desperation

The Sasuke she loved had been born the day he told her the truth about his suspicions of his father's assassination. In low tones, he detailed how the press had endlessly reported it as a sniper from another building. He recalled the cold door under his small hands, the fallen newspaper, his mother's cry, her palms curling around his brow, obstructing his sight.

He recalled how none of the windows were shattered, recalled a fallen lamp.

Only later, when he snuck back without his mother, when they'd taken the body away, the lamp had been righted, and the window had been newly broken. A sniper, they said, but how could it be when at first there had been no evidence of an external perpetrator?

The Sasuke she loved was determined and proud to a fault and gave her white tulips at graduation and laid out plans of their future in pencil on graph paper. He debated back and forth with her on the difference between due process of law and revenge, arguments that wound down into the same he said she said…arguments which backed them into that fourth floor supply closet.

The memory of him strangled her.

When they'd both dropped out of law school one after the other, him to pursue revenge, her to pursue him, he had been adamant that the system could never help him seek the closure he needed. He didn't believe anymore that the government that had killed his father could also contain people that would bring him to justice.

And so he left. Without so much as a breath of goodbyes.

Like always, she remained: rooted, fluttering, alone.

She rose from the bed, sweeping the excess paper to the floor. Strapped to her thigh, beneath the now wrinkled green dress, lay a phone. She unlocked it with a quick stroke of her thumb and dialed the number she knew by heart.

The hotel room cloyed at her senses.

The phone rang once, twice: "Kakashi? I'm going to need a plane."

–

–

notes: hi! thanks for your wonderful comments!


	3. MNEMONIC

**ultraviolence**  
MNEMONIC

–

–

When they finished, he brushed off the blonde hairs that had gotten stuck to her slick bare back. "Your turn," he drawled as he rolled off of her and sat up, ruffling his hair.

She sighed into the pillow her elbows and face were resting against, letting her knees slide down as she curled to the side. A large pout made itself known on her small chin. "No pillow talk?" Her fingers curled around his bicep, red nails like blood against the inner skin of his arm.

He stood from the bed, and her hand dropped, boneless, to the mattress. His feet met the dirty carpet as he snagged the package of cigarettes and a lighter on the window sill in one hand, tossing the condom into the trash from the other. Sitting back down on the edge of the bed, he lit one, shoulders hunched as he stared out at the smog and the storm.

"What do you want me to say?" he scoffed after he took a drag. "I love you?"

She flinched. Ash blonde eyelashes fluttered shut. "Fine. We can make this a business transaction, but there are things you can't hide from me, Sasuke. I _know_ when you close your eyes when we make love you see someone else."

His gaze narrowed, irritation mounting. "Shut up and just tell me."

She frowned, eyes flinty. "Fine. _Fine_." Tossing her legs over the side of the bed, she stood, revealing raw skin around her hips, stretch marks at her thighs. She sashayed over to the desk. Removing a key from a compact, she slid it into the locked drawer, and it turned easily. Papers rustled, and she returned a minute later, sliding onto his lap.

A manila folder was pressed to her breasts, and she licked her lips. "Here you go, lover boy." Her breath still smelled like hard candy.

He tugged the folder from her fingers, opening it up to view several sets of stapled pages. "That's their schedules. I'm sure you can find a way to happen to bump into them to make your meeting happen. Homura loves to deviate from his schedule though, often times to get 'therapy massages' for his 'back pain.'" She rolled her eyes, fingers limply falling away from her air quotes. "It's the worst kept council secret that that wrinkly old bag skips meetings to see a hooker."

He hummed.

She continued to murmur idle gossip into the line of his neck, and he fixed his gaze back out the window. If he didn't focus on the blonde hairs in his periphery, he could almost pretend it was her, these were her whispered promises.

Then, her voice cut through again. "It's weird, though. I didn't get any messages from the chief of staff. You're an Uchiha. By all rights, some level of priority should go to you for a meeting. I'll ask Koharu if she'll sit down to lunch with you, if you'd like? I guess I'm biased in saying this, but she's definitely the softer one of the three. Plus I've got some influence. I'm her assistant."

He closed his eyes.

He leaned backward on the bed and she followed him down, eyes alight. "You want to go again?" He hummed in response, rolling them so she was on her back, and the grabbed two pillows. One went just under her head, and she smiled, pink lips sweet with nectar, with words. "Business or pleasure?"

The other pillow went directly on top of her face.

Faces drifted before him as the veins in his arms grew with effort. An amalgam of Sakura and his mother's faces grew and popped in his vision, useless facts swirling in his head.

He heard Sakura's voice from their boarding school, reminding him the order of the metric system— _King Homura died Monday drinking chocolate milk_ , _Sasuke. It's easy. Kilo, hecta, deca, meter, deci, centi, milli._

Her acrylic nails left lines in his arms, and she struggled, kicking and bucking, but he pressed harder and harder and soon she was gone, fingers falling away. He caught her slim hands, methodically plucking off each of the fake nails to remove evidence before depositing them in the trash.

His mother's— _Sasuke, don't cry. It's just part of life. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust._

In the walls, he could hear a couple arguing, dishes clattering. Outside the glass, a freight train rumbled by.

His father's— _I'm proud of you._

–

–

notes: as it happens, I learned many mnemonics in school. the one I wanted to use but can't since pluto isn't a planet anymore was 'my very educated mother just served us nine pizza-pies'. mmmmm pizza. mmmmmmmm pie.


	4. SACRIFICE

**ultraviolence**  
SACRIFICE

–

–

"Is that…no, Sakura Haruno? The last time I saw you at the state department's gala…well, I can't recall how long ago it even was. You look so different."

With a small cup of water resting comfortably between her fingers, Sakura tipped her head back, laughing. "Well, to be fair, the last time I was here, I had my mother's skirt clutched between my fingers. One would hope I look different, Jiraiya."

The old man grinned in response. "Ah, yes, she _was_ always gallivanting across the world, wasn't she? I suppose you weren't given the opportunity to attend. Well! Now that you're older, I hope you've discovered the open bar." He eyed her water meaningfully.

Sakura's eyes crinkled when she smiled. "As a matter of fact, I did learn about that particular feature." She nodded to the tall bar table beside them where a few drops of burgundy remaining at the bottom of a wine glass.

"Your mother would be proud," he teased. "Give her my regards." He left then, milling around and making a beeline for the aforementioned open bar.

She was free to fix her attention on the sole purpose of her attendance. Sasuke, conversing intently with her own intelligence director across the room. Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck and patted Sasuke awkwardly on the arm, moving away, giving Sakura the opening she needed.

She walked at a fast clip toward Sasuke, weaving through the crowd in the ballroom, and when she moved into earshot, he turned towards her, appraising. "Black isn't really your color, Sakura."

Her smile was tight. "I'm in mourning. Surely you heard about the dead girl they found yesterday. Assistant to Koharu. Very suspicious. No one knows what happened to her, but it looks like murder."

"Hm. How sad." He took a sip of whisky. "I'm sure she would appreciate the sentiment."

"Oh, it's not _her_ I'm in mourning for." She glared at him, unsaid words souring in her mouth.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sighed. "Sakura, go home."

"I will _not_ do any such thing. I—"

A third voice cut in. "Sasuke, Sakura! I can't believe you guys are here. You never seemed the type for parties. Always working in Hidden Leaf Prep, anyway."

Sakura turned to the intruder, smile melting easily onto her mouth. "Kiba," she greeted, voice tinkling. He leaned towards her, pecking her on the cheek. "It's been too long. What are you doing with yourself now?"

He and Sasuke shook hands as he answered her. "Oh, I'm the press secretary's assistant. Can you believe it? You wouldn't believe the job. I get to bandage up the craziest stuff. Don't get me wrong; I love our new prime minister, but _man_ I didn't know what dirty laundry meant until—"

"I'm going to go outside for a smoke," Sasuke cut off, shoulders tense.

Kiba paused, brows knitting. "Okay, man. I'll see you around."

Sakura looked caught, but Kiba gestured to Sasuke who was walking away with his hands in his pockets. "You're gonna go after him, huh?"

Her face was unreadable. "Yeah. I guess I am."

–

She found him on the balcony, hands curled around the railing. Below, trees twinkled, lit with sparkling bulbs. She leaned on her elbows next to him, a decent amount of space between them. "Do you ever think about what we've given up?"

He didn't even look at her. He turned an unlit cigarette between his fingers.

"I think about it whenever I'm in this city." Her voice was wet. He didn't dare look her in the eyes. "Letting things go…it would have been so much easier. We were…we had _everything_ , Sasuke. You, the son of the prime minister, wrongly murdered or not. Me, the daughter of an ambassador. We had Hidden Leaf in the palm of our hands. That could have been just the beginning, followed up by prestigious law school and then…and then who knows what?"

He slipped the cigarette back into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and shoved his hands in his pockets, turning to lean backwards against the railing. He crossed one foot over the other at the ankle.

"It could have been nothing. We could have just slipped into the background, or we could have been something. But we would have been… _present_ , at least," she spat. Whatever residual sadness was gone, overtaken by astringent bitterness. "Instead, you're busy chasing ghosts, and I'm busy running after a man who might as well be one. And for what?"

He squeezed his eyes shut. "Sakura, shut the fuck up. You _still_ don't get it."

"You're damn right I don't!" She turned to face him, face drawn. "What is the point? I'm so…I'm so sickof living this half life, but I can't…I can't do shit about it. Because it's you, and I'm still so weak." She chuckled hollowly. Then, barely a whisper: "Sometimes, I wish I'd never met you."

His lips thinned into a line. The tense silence between them lasted several beats. "Do you know why I came here?" he asked finally.

She blinked. "To the gala?"

"Yeah. To the gala. Do you know why?"

Her lips parted and then sealed. "No."

"I came because I wanted to give your method a chance, so I talked to your friend you put so much faith in. I talked to Kakashi Hatake, and I told him I wanted to know how my dad really died because I knew damn well it wasn't a sniper. And you know what he said?"

Her head felt heavy, and she remembered all those long nights she'd spent digging through classified files only to find them all empty.

"He said it was above his pay grade to know the details of assassinations. _Above his fucking pay grade_. He's the _director_ , Sakura."

She looked away.

He stared at her for a long moment, and then shook his head disbelievingly, exhaling loudly. "And… _youknew_. It's written all over your face. Of course you knew."

"Sasuke…"

"You knew that they'd covered it all up."

"Well," she floundered, pushing away from the edge to pace in a circle, hands clenching and unclenching. "I don't _know_. I just…I assumed it wasn't something I could access because I'm a new employee. The…they must hide the classified stuff about prime ministers, surely. It's too sensitive."

He looked away, face pinched. "Don't."

She trembled, swallowed. Standing in place, cool night air raising goosebumps on her arms, she looked smaller than she'd looked in a long time. "There had to be a _reason_. I was looking into it, you know. I was…I'm so sure there's an explanation, a location of those missing files, the missing evidence…"

He turned on her, dark eyes drowning in vitriol. He stepped forward again and again and again until he had her backed against the railing, voice caustic. "You just sit there in your uniform with your shiny badge and pretend like you've got something good on your side, but all you have are lies. And worse—they're not even lies someone else has told you. They're lies you told yourself."

His face was inches from hers, breath puffing on her flushed cheeks.

She blinked, green eyes wide—with terror? fascination?—shadowed only by his frame over hers. She let loose a breath she didn't know she was holding, the tension in her muscles unwinding as she relaxed against him, her smaller body fitting against his just so.

He closed his eyes and turned his head before stepping away.

He was at the sliding glass doors that sealed off the balcony from the main ballroom, hand on the doorknob, when he stopped. His voice was rough. "Sakura has always been thorough, realistic. When you find her, you can tell her she can come find me."

There words nearly didn't make it out, coherency lost in the rubble. "Where?"

The door slid open, noise from the crowd's laughter and chatter spilling into their space. "She'll know where."

–

–

notes: someone recently commented in regards to the last chapter that I should write sakura having sex with someone else other than sasuke so as to avoid the story becoming "one of the usual sakura [stories wherein she] doesn't sleep with other guys because she loves sasuke, even though he sleeps around."

to this, I have a few things to say:

1) sakura is not lesser for not sleeping around, just as she's not lesser if she does. she doesn't _have_ to have sex with some other guy in order to fulfill a bizarre eye for an eye sense of equality. I assume you seek to create the kind of "feminist" sakura that don't take shit from no man, but here is the important thing to remember about feminism-it's about _choice_. and if sakura chooses to fuck a guy or not fuck a guy-neither of those make her lesser. sakura could be the girl who sleeps around with everyone, or she could be a nun. either way, she's still a woman who is smart, observant, passionate, loyal, and fierce. she always will be.

2) sasuke fucking a girl for information and then killing her is _not_ a standard that sakura (or anyone) should strive towards. it's really fucked up. it's deeply, deeply disturbing and wrong. and I love sasuke, don't get me wrong, but trading sex for information and then ultimately murdering that person once they finished being useful to him-as a source of pleasure and ambition? no. just...no.

3) aside from the fact that this story has been written since 2016 and I'm definitely not changing it now, if you want to see something in a story, write it yourself. don't go around demanding it from other people. step up to the plate. show us what you've got.


	5. ANONYMOUS

**ultraviolence**  
ANONYMOUS

–

–

 _All night  
the dark buds of dreams  
open  
richly._

 _In the center  
of every petal  
is a letter,  
and you imagine_

 _if you could only remember  
and string them all together  
they would spell the answer._

.

By the time Sakura left the gala, it was a little past midnight. She slipped into her black car—parallel parked on a quiet side street—and turned the keys in the ignition, daring to drive. Her earlier conversation had sobered her entirely, and she had spent the rest of the night turning the story over in her head.

She peeled away from the curb, joining the flow of traffic, and made her way across town, stopping at a red light.

On the seat next to her lay the ending, the conclusion: a slim file with a single news article in it. Pulling the pieces together had been easy once she'd steeled herself to stare at the truth, eyes open, no matter how much it burned.

Later in the same night, steeled with courage from another glass of wine, she'd approached her boss, asked the familiar, kind gray-haired, wry man how his first meeting with Sasuke went. He'd brushed the question off, though, asking instead whether she had any proof of the things she suspected of Sasuke.

She'd stayed silent, and he'd sighed and walked away.

The following hour commenced her leaving the hotel ballroom, going down to the first floor business center, and researching publicly available information. Putting together the pieces—the things missing in files (DNA evidence, photographic evidence, guard records)—and the context of the world ages ago.

The article, the only story telling piece she needed, had gone into the empty file folder, and the file folder had made a home on the seat next to her: her lone companion, truth.

The article's headline read "PM Uchiha approval ratings plummet amidst Council feud."

The light turned green. She drove.

.

 _It is a long night,_

 _and not an easy one –  
you have so many branches,  
and there are diversions –  
birds that come and go,_

 _the black fox that lies down  
to sleep beneath you,  
the moon staring  
with her bone-white eye_

.

The drive was loud with thoughts and quiet with speech, and by the time she pulled into the gated area of the boarding school, rising and falling over speed bumps, she was far enough out of the light pollution of the city to see the stars. The air was less temperamental out here; the crickets crooned their welcome.

The last time she had stepped onto the cobblestone path leading up to the oldest dormitory, it had been the night before graduation. She could still smell the bouquet of tulips, taste the salt of her tears.

The campus was closed for break, and the doors were all locked as usual. With a level of finesse that she had perfected by the time she left at eighteen years of age, she meandered around the back of the building to the kitchen entrance. She tugged at the magnetically locked entrance with enough force and it cracked open.

The alarm system, too aged, did not good off.

She climbed up the service stairs, black dress clinging to her thighs, and traversed to the upper floor of the stout building. The stairs—rough concrete—scraped the bottom of her heels with every step.

The door was locked just the same—weak magnets—and with a heave she shoved it open to the night sky.

Here, there was a place of their own.

She was almost certain that turning around would yield Sasuke standing against the brick wall, taking a drag from his cigarette, but it was empty. No one was around. Her breath caught in her throat.

She took the last step out of the doorway and let it close behind her with a click, and she walked slowly to the ledge of the rooftop garden. The plants swayed in the night breeze, and a rat scurried past her heeled foot.

She didn't mind.

Here, there was some kind of home, rats and all.

"Sasuke," she whispered. A light flickered on in the pitch—the glow of a tiny flip phone, hidden by a cactus Sasuke used to cram empty beer bottles behind. It rang, default ringtone chiming loudly in the night. She slid her hand past the prickles of the cactus and snagged the phone, opening it and holding it to her ear. "Hello?"

By that time, the line had disconnected. The dial tone burbled.

A piece of paper, previously weighed down by the burner phone, fluttered in the wind, threatened to fly off. She snatched it, holding it in the blue glow of the flip phone screen.

A series of numbers in familiar handwriting—coordinates. Unsigned, anonymous. From him.

"Sasuke," she whispered again.

No one answered, but when she turned to walk back to the door, retracing her footsteps, her eye caught an orange glimmer at the foot of the trash can at the corner of the building: a cigarette, embers burning, still warm to the touch. He was there.

She paused, almost turned around again.

Instead, she pocketed the coordinates, placed her hand on the doorknob, and left.

 _._

 _Finally you have spent  
all the energy you can  
and you drag from the ground  
the muddy skirt of your roots_

 _and leap awake  
with two or three syllables  
like water in your mouth  
and a sense_

 _of loss – a memory  
not yet of a word,  
certainly not yet the answer –  
only how it feels_

 _when deep in the tree  
all the locks click open,  
and the fire surges through the wood,  
and the blossoms blossom._

–

–

notes: poem credit goes to mary oliver. the poem is called "dream" from her collection _dream work._ all of her poetry is absolutely gorgeous! highly recommend checking it out.

1) to the person who wrote me a small, angry essay in order to tell me they're quitting reading this story—I hope you feel better now that you've vented out all your anger. it's a terrible thing to be so upset with someone who has a difference in opinion from you, so I hope you find other stories out there more to your liking! there's a breadth of wonderful authors out there (many of whom aren't "like me") waiting for you to find them.

2) to "a needy fangirl"—I presume you're the same person who left me a message on tumblr about whether I'll be finishing other stories. a longer and better explanation can be found on my tumblr windsilk under the tag asks, but the nutshell version is that after I finish this, I'll be quitting fanfiction for the foreseeable future in order to focus on writing original work. so...probably I won't be finishing anything beyond this story. but! I don't like to make guarantees so who knows? maybe one day I'll come back. if I ever think that there's not even a 0.5% chance in hell I'll finish an incomplete story, I promise you that I'll post the rest of the plot so you can have closure. I'm just not ready to make that commitment yet.


	6. PRINCE(SS) AND THE PAUPER

**ultraviolence**  
PRINCE(SS) AND THE PAUPER

–

–

 **\+ 1**

By the time she arrived at the mapped coordinates, daybreak had filtered over the edge of the trees, haloing them in dull heat. The dim shack in between the mountains was exactly the kind of hovel she expected to see a criminal plotting nefarious activities within.

Years ago, she would have been shocked to see Sasuke—Sasuke Uchiha with body guards (now retired from service) and silver cuff links and flossed teeth—staying in such a place. But now…

She inhaled sharply, recalling the smoker's breath in the casino, the pictures and coroner's words on the body that had been brought in. The girl's skin had been almost translucent, lips cracked and raw. Remnants of acrylic glue coated the tops of her nails. Her hair was limp, oily. She'd had sex before she'd died.

Now things were different.

She turned the car off as she came to a stop, fuel gauge hovering just above E. The door swung open as she unbuckled, clambering out of the car with urgency. The door shut behind her with a slam, and only the wildlife stirred. Crows squawked and ripped themselves away from the branches in fear.

"Good advice," she muttered to them, watching the black smears of wings scatter like ink in water.

The door of the cabin swung open, wood scraping on wood, and Sasuke stepped out, waiting.

She took a step forward.

 **\+ 2**

There was a clothes line behind the house, and armed with a bucket of pins in her hand and her black dress over her shoulder, she moved through the overgrown grass to hang it up. A mouse scurried over her foot, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

She threw the damp dress over the line, straightening it out the creases in the fabric with quick movements. One clip, two clips later and she was walking back to the open door.

Sasuke's clothes clung to her like a memory. His long sleeve shirt bunched around her elbows, drawstring pants high on her waist.

The second she stepped onto the linoleum floor inside, the words were out of her mouth. "What is this life like?"

Sasuke looked up from where he was poring over printed emails, notes filling an empty wall in the kitchen. Dark circles bled beneath a line of wet eyelashes. His eyes were bloodshot, glassy from exhaustion.

Neither of them had slept the night before. She had tossed and turned; he had hunched over the desk, arms trembling.

When it became apparent no answer was coming from him, she closed her eyes, sighing. "Never mind."

The breeze scampered in from outside, tousling her hair. She moved to leave the room, turning around the corner of the yellowing cabinets.

She was almost out of earshot when:

"Better, now."

 **\+ 3**

Waking up was the same as it was nearly ten years ago. White blankets were wrapped around her shoulders, and the space next to her was empty. The light was gray, and thick thunderclouds pebbled in the flat sky.

"Sasuke?"

The dust near the foot of the bed shifted, restless from air passing swiftly. "Did Kakashi ever show you files involving around the election of Hyuuga?" His feet came into view, bare and clean. A tan line from his shoes ran across his ankles.

She rolled onto her back, looking up at him. "No, but I found them on my own."

"And?"

The sky grumbled. She glanced at the first few patters of rain on the glass pane, sliding down to meet the weeds sprouting around the edge of the house. "He received early funds from a lot of interested parties, one of whom was an old classmate of the three council members."

He rolled his shoulders, looking visibly annoyed. Brown water marks began to seep farther out from their existing resting ground.

"Circumstantial at best," she continued. Her voice was hoarse from sleep. "This doesn't matter anymore, though, I thought?"

He sat down on the edge of the bed, running his hands through his unruly hair. "Fuck. It doesn't. But what if I'm wrong?" When she didn't immediately respond, the lines in his face deepened. "Fuck."

She sat up, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. The blankets pooled at her waist, and her hair hugged her slim shoulders. "Your memory doesn't deceive you. And the article I gave you…"

He nodded. "Yeah. They were going to lose everything."

Her eyes, bright green even in the shadowed room, sought his. "You are, too, you know—kingdom and all."

He scoffed. "I'm not a prince."

"And I'm not a pauper." Her lips, cold, pressed into his exposed shoulder blade.

The rain poured on.

 **\+ 4**

Days passed. She had donned the black dress again, inappropriate as it was for the task of lounging around. The silk clung to her legs. Sasuke had thrown himself into his deliberate planning, laying out lists of supplies, potential obstacles, mapping the building.

The careful balancing act they'd mastered the past few months was a disintegrating building, as unsteady as the wisp of an abode they were in.

At night, he came to her; in the day, he left her. Reduced to business and pleasure, if even that.

They only spoke when it was necessary.

She was sitting in a cedar rocking chair by the front windows, watching a finch hop speedily across a patch of grass. "Why did I even come here?" Her voice was hollow.

Sasuke looked up from where he was mouthing the motions of the plan to himself, pausing to glance at her knowingly. "Why do you always come, Sakura?"

It was a rhetorical question. The answer hung in the space between them, but it only managed to swell an acrid bitterness in her throat. "Why do you always _ask_ me to come?"

Her predispositions swam around her head, drowning her. He stood from the table in the kitchen, walking over to her. He stood just to the side, following her gaze to the orange-necked bird, wings flapping eagerly as it yanked a worm from the ground.

Minutes passed, and the resentment grew to blacken her mood. Of course he wouldn't answer.

But then, softly, he breathed, "Why does the moon chase the sun?"

–

–

notes: just one more chapter left!


	7. BONNIE AND CLYDE

**ultraviolence**  
BONNIE AND CLYDE

–

–

At 6:47 AM, she breathed the cotton of his shirt, the dusty sleep and closet-worn threading pressed to her cheek and nose. Her lips, chapped, caught on the cloth as she spoke. "You know this story. It's always between duty and you."

Arms around him, the crown of her forehead nestled between his shoulder blades; her face bowed: "Sasuke…"

The morning light was cool and sweet. The moon was still high, even with the pink of morning slowly bleeding across the sky. The sheets of their cabin bedroom were half strewn on the floor. It was time, nearly.

A rasp, a whisper: one part morning breath, one part desperation against his spine. Her arms squeezed. "Please…don't make me do this."

–

Her black mood deepened as her glossy car sped across county lines through leagues of darkened woodlands. Her gown was caught in the door, and she hadn't bothered to fix it. It whipped and wrinkled with every sharp turn.

On the passenger seat, the slip of paper with the coordinates lay. Unassuming.

Her phone tinkled, and with a quick glance and a swipe, she picked up through the bluetooth of her car. "Haruno, where are you? What are these coordinates you messaged me?"

"I can't lose any time. He gave me coordinates at the school half an hour ago–they're to where he's staying. I'm sure of it. I'm on my way there." Her voice was taut. The clock, bright against the dark leather interior, read 3:43 AM. The blue glow illuminated the bags under her eyes.

A beat passed. "Are you okay?"

Her jaw tightened. "Yes, Kakashi. I'm fine. I'm doing my job. I need you to make an appointment with the Council for us. I know that's what he's going to want, and I'll finish the job when he's there, when there's a definitive threat, with definitive proof of his…treason."

Another pause. "Okay. I'll have to put the appointment in your name, though. They won't agree to see him." A deep, crackling sigh. "You and I both know it's not just, but you understand that this is the job, right? We can't have unrest in the nation, and exacting extrajudicial justice on the Council's wrongdoing isn't going to undo what's been done–"

She cut him off: "I know." Her voice was clipped.

"Take care of yourself." She could hear the sound of the wind in the background of his reception, the clink of a spoon against a mug. "I can always assign someone else. You don't have to–"

"I do." Her words cut, grief bleeding. "I'm doing my goddamn duty."

–

Sakura unloaded her two guns and her security badge into the plastic bin before pushing it down the conveyor belt. Her trench coat was dropped just behind them, and she walked through the metal detector in a pair of black pumps, a dark green blouse, and a slate pencil skirt.

Sasuke waited a ways down, having nothing but his wallet, phone, and file folders to his name.

On the other side of the conveyor belt, Shino stood parsing through her belongings before they went through the scanner. He patted down her coat pockets and mused aloud. "You were supposed to be on sabbatical and yet here you are. Why?"

She hummed in assent, eyes fixed on Sasuke. He was busy chatting up another member of the security team posted at the East Palace. "Kakashi put me on Sasuke's detail. Keeping tabs. I'm sure you've heard the situation."

Sasuke was all charisma and posture, flashes of teeth and diligent logic. Watching him work in his natural habitat was something else altogether. She was transfixed.

Shino stared at her through his dark shades, speculative. The sun through the window at the back of the security cabin reflected off the lenses. "Is that so." It wasn't a question. She shifted her weight to other foot and grabbed her coat as it emerged from the other side of the x-ray, studiously avoiding eye contact as she pulled her arms through the sleeves.

"Yes. It is."

–

The cafeteria at Hidden Leaf was barren on Saturday mornings—just Sakura, Sasuke, her book, his newspaper, and the warble of spoons against the sides of their respective cereal bowls (Raisin Bran for him, Cheerios with sliced bananas for her).

"You can't expect to win the vote this way."

She looked up, a yawn bubbling at her lips as she set her gaze upon the shock of messy bright blond hair affixed on Naruto's head. "What?"

Sasuke barely glanced over the edge of the editorial section. "Go away."

Naruto crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair. "Look, all I'm saying is if you want to rule over a people, you have to get them to like you, and that means being one of the crowd. That means," he emphasized, "on weekends, going to breakfast at 11:00 and having lunch at 2:00 and dinner out on the town." He paused, folding the graying newspaper over. "And getting your news on Twitter."

Sasuke scowled and dropped the paper on the table flat, undoing the damage with careful fingers. "It's a bunch of teenagers, not a country."

Naruto leaned forward, shifting his arms to rest his weight on his elbows. His blue eyes glowed. "What's the difference?"

–

The crescent-shaped antechamber was quiet. Sasuke sat catty corner from her across a low glass coffee table in the jade-walled room. He was stiff in his chair, hands gripping the wooden arm rests, the pads of his fingers worrying small circles into the carved detail. The files on the proposed memorial gala were tossed on the table.

The Elders' new aide bent over the table, setting two porcelain cups of green tea down. The steam spiraled lazily away from the rim. "I'm Moegi," she said as she straightened, facing Sasuke. "I've been working here for a few months now, and I just want to say it's an honor to meet you, Mr. Uchiha. Your family has done so much–"

"Yes, thank you." He cut her off, and Sakura looked at him sharply, urging him to soothe over his faux pas. Sasuke cleared his throat. "I appreciate that."

Sakura sighed, uncrossing her legs. Her heel scraped against her shin. "I apologize on behalf of Mr. Uchiha here—he's a bit under the weather. We traveled overnight to get here on time, so we're all a little short on energy. Wanted to make sure we had ample time to execute on my proposed memorial gala."

Moegi nodded earnestly, gaze still fixed on Sasuke. "Of course, of course Miss Haruno."

His posture tightened further.

"Moegi?"

At last, she turned to face Sakura. One of her low red pigtails slipped over her shoulder. "Yes?" When she spoke, her gap tooth became visible.

"You wouldn't happen to have some honey, would you?"

At that, Moegi left through the doorway on the longer side of the antechamber, and Sakura made to catch Sasuke's eyes, but they were locked on the other doorway just behind her. The door to the office.

Twenty minutes to go.

–

At first, she thought it was a leaf like any other at Hidden Leaf. Curled, brown and crisp, angled curves and veins against the cobblestone path which wound around the back of the art building.

"…was what Naruto said. Which, fuck, how are we taking his advice?"

She was entranced as it moved, fluttered. "He's helping. People actually like you now."

He scoffed. "I don't care if people like me." His hands were shoved deep into his woolen coat pockets. The cold almost-winter winds whipped around their faces.

She stopped then, just before it, and squatted, the front of her boots wrinkling to support her weight. "It's not a leaf."

Sasuke stopped and turned around, having walked a few paces ahead. "What?"

"It's a bat. It's a baby bat." Just below the gales of wind, a faint squeaking could be made out–cries from the bat, leaf-like wings flapping helplessly, furred belly twitching as it lay prone on the ground. "It's going to get stepped on. How do I…how do we…? I can't touch it because bats carry diseases but if we don't do something, it'll die…"

Sasuke stood behind her, staring down as it keened, pleaded. Its ears were pointed and wrinkled, and its eyes were glimmering in the autumn sun. "It's going to die anyway since it clearly can't fly. Maybe put it out of its misery."

She blanched and looked up at him in abject horror. "We can't do that! It's a baby."

"Fine." He sighed heavily and pulled out his phone, typing quickly. His face glowed in the light of the screen, and she waited. "We need a stick."

She stood from her crouch, darting into the bushes to yank a small twig free from the greenery. "Okay. Now what?"

"Touch it to its feet. It has reflexes to wrap around any object, and then you can lift it up and out of the way. Maybe lay it in a tree so its family can find it."

She crouched back down and lay the stick just along its toes. As the bat's feet wrapped tightly, Sakura's pink lips quirked up in a smile. "Do me a favor and stop pretending you don't want to be loved."

–

Sakura stood hunched over the sink, shaking. Her fingers gripped the vanity, knuckles whitening, as she dry-heaved over the faucet.

The small part of her brain that wasn't fraying at the seams wondered how many people had vomited in the East Palace. It wasn't an exclusive club she wanted to join.

With a flick of the tap, cold water gushed out and filled her cupped hands. She splashed her face, steadying herself, swallowing her anxiety–and then the door swung open behind her. She flinched at the sound and looked up with forced casualness. When her green eyes met Sasuke's familiar black ones, she sighed, the tension draining out of her shoulders. "This is the ladies' room, Sasuke," she spoke to his reflection.

He ignored her, closing the space between them, turning her around, and kissing her, lips desperate, hands clutching her waist. She exhaled into his mouth, shuddered, eyes slipping shut. His nose slid down the length of hers, sending goosebumps up her spine. His hands roved downward to ruck up her pencil skirt, and she reached for his belt when he froze, fingers between her thighs, caught in the fabric of her gun holster.

Cold reality like the sink water splashed over her. "We have to stick to the timeline. To the plan," he whispered against her lips, and then stepped away.

Her jaw trembled, eyes stinging at what was to come. With efficient hands, she unstrapped the second gun to hand to him before yanking her skirt back down into place. She patted the wrinkles over for something to do.

The bathroom fell into silence. She breathed, and then, voice strained: "Please don't make me do this."

He looked away. "We have to make it right."

–

The votes had been counted.

In their small office next to the bathroom in the administration building of Hidden Leaf Preparatory, Sakura laughed breathlessly, eyes sparkling in the dim fluorescent lighting.

Naruto was bustling around in the hallway, trying to wrangle the music with the technicians for the speech they had to give in a few short minutes. Kiba was arguing with Lee in the background about the necessity for streamers.

Sasuke and Sakura sat still on a rundown leather couch, staring at the phone between them.

The dimmed light winked out, and Sakura tore her eyes away from it at last. "I can't believe we won." She blinked several times, looking out between the old blinds covering their small window. "We have to…we have to fine tune the speech. It has to be perfect."

"We only have like 5 minutes, anyway. Too late to do anything to it." He cleared his throat, neck reddening. "Anyway, you wrote it. It's already perfect."

She squinted at him for a long moment, and the flush steadily creeped its way up his neck to his cheeks. Rolling her eyes, she laughed. "Not even Naruto could help you gain the social skills for this, huh?"

He fidgeted. "What?"

"You suck at romance," she said between giggles. His cheeks burned now, and she pressed closer, taking his face in hers and kissing him sweetly. "You're lucky I have enough emotional intelligence for the both of us." She stood, then, offering a hand. "Let's do this thing."

–

They sat on the opposite couch from the Council. "I didn't realize you would be here, too, Mr. Uchiha," Koharu said sharply.

Sakura smiled, hands laced together delicately on her lap. "I brought him along–thought it made sense to have his input since the memorial gala is in his family's honor. We actually worked together on fine tuning the details–charity funds would go towards the education fund of the Human Rights Council to distribute. That was a particularly important cause to the late PM Uchiha and his wife."

Homura nodded earnestly as he sipped his tea, the cup clattering against the saucer as he replaced it with nervous hands. "Yes, he did quite enjoy visiting schools, and literacy was one of her foremost priorities. The five of us loved talking about plans for the education system."

Sasuke cut in, voice scathing. "You guys loved working together, didn't you?"

Danzo cleared his throat, glancing at the folders between them. A burning cigarette rested between his fingers. "Indeed. He was a good man. Well, since you've left these plans for us, Miss Haruno, we'll look them over and meet again at–"

Sasuke stood, eyes watering, shoulders shaking under the burden of his despair. "You can't even look at my face, and you're going to talk to me about how good my father was? The father you had killed?" His voice broke. "For what–to have more power? How's that working out for you now? Hyuuga's not a doormat either."

Koharu and Homura stood at once, the latter's face pinched as he croaked, "You don't know what you're talking about, son."

In one smooth movement, Sasuke retrieved the gun from his jacket and pointed it at Koharu's creased forehead. Sasuke's jaw was clenched, and Sakura's stomach was in knots. Her hands shook. "I don't, do I?" His voice was hard, caustic, mocking. "Open up the second folder."

Danzo's shaking hands slid the top manila folder to the side, opening the second. Printed pages, collated, that Sakura had picked up from her headquarters earlier in the day lay in there.

On the top, the article about disputes between the Council and the Prime Minister. Below that, screen grabs of the internal empty files, the lack of evidence on the incident, the lack of investigation. Below that, an internal report Kakashi had given her at the last minute, written on paper, never scanned into the system, regarding the gunshot residue found in the room.

Gunshot residue which wouldn't be there unless the gun had been discharged in the room Fugaku died in, not from a sharpshooter elsewhere. Kakashi's charcoal eyes had been wide with apologies, and he'd mumbled his regrets that things had to turn out this way.

Koharu's sagging skin stretched as her eyes widened, and her lips quivered. "Oh, Sasuke, you grew up with us, but we had to do what was best for the country–"

The gun fired, and she slumped against the couch, blood soaking into the white cushions. Sasuke turned the barrel towards Homura who had made an unbalanced run for the door, and he pressed the trigger again, bullet flying out with a thunderous crack. Homura fell against the wall, eyes glassed over and lifeless. Sakura's face was ashen, her limbs frozen in place.

His voice was hoarse when he turned towards Danzo. "I have to do what's best for the country, too."

The mouth of of Sakura's gun kissed Sasuke's back, just above his heart. His voice was raspy as he stilled. "Sakura…"

And Danzo smiled, taking a drag from his cigarette.

–

At 6:59 AM, she mumbled against his spine in the cabin, eyes brimming with tears. "I don't understand."

"Yes you do. You're smart. You'll be a hero. You can make something good from our clean slate. You have the the education at a great set of schools, the experience of public service, the parenting from your ambassador mother, the connections from your years if wading through politics. You'll have the name recognition, afterward, when you're on the front page of every newspaper." He said it almost reverently. "You can do something good."

She swallowed her heart. "I don't want any of that without you. We're a team Sasuke. We work when we're together. There's still time to move forward; there are other ways–"

But Sasuke was stone, looking out at the gates of death even from their bed. "We'll always be a team, no matter where I am." His hand came around to weave their fingers together–a lover's knot. "But it has to be you."

She wept.

"You have to kill me."

–

Everything happened at once. The doors to the chamber slammed open, and officers spilled into the room, Kakashi at the head of them, all with guns at the ready. Kakashi raised a hand, and they stilled in place, poised. Sasuke's gun was still pointed at Danzo, and Sakura's at Sasuke. Her eyes were glassy.

"Put the gun down, Sasuke." Her words were mechanic, rehearsed, and then her lips wobbled, a last supplication. "Please don't make me do this."

Danzo crossed his arms, still seated on the couch. "Listen to Miss Haruno, Mr. Uchiha. Have reason."

In her peripherals, she could see Kakashi step forward, watching her carefully. A long moment passed, where everyone was silent. "Sakura," Sasuke pleaded. "We're a team."

"Sakura," Kakashi pressed. "Finish it."

Danzo darted forward to drop his burning cigarette on top of the papers, the heat causing them to catch flame.

Sasuke's gun fired, and then Sakura's, and then Sasuke fell.

Tears tracked down her cheeks as the red bled into the floor, into her heart. A hoarse sob escaped her, and she clapped her free hand over her mouth to silence herself, dropping to her knees. Around her, the shuffling of officers blurred together as if she were underwater. She could barely feel as Kakashi patted her on the shoulder.

Her hand clenched tightly on the gun. And then, with trembling hands, she pressed the muzzle to her temple.

–

–

 **notes** : I mentioned this a few notes ago, but I'm quitting fanfiction to focus on original work from here on out, but it's been a ride-a ten year long ride, I'm just realizing! wow. ten year this august. crazy.

see you on the flip side!


End file.
